Broken
by Aradiuth
Summary: Finrod is tortured by Sauron in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. M for gore, rape, noncon, angst, etc. You have been warned. (one-shot)


Silently, alone in the darkness of the cell, the fair-haired Noldo allowed tears to stream down his cheeks. He leaned against the stone wall, heedless of the cold against his bare back, for it soothed the burning welts and lacerations somewhat. Since they had left him alone, he knew his more traditional session of torture for the day was over. But the worst was still to come. Finrod had already learned that the worst was never over in this place of darkness.

And he was not wrong. It was not long before the great iron door swung open once more and his enemy strode in. Finrod did not acknowledge his visitor. He had learned already that it made no difference, whether he cursed his enemy or turned away; he was powerless.

His indifference did not please his captor. He was dragged up by his hair and forced roughly against the wall, eliciting a gasp of pain from the Noldo as his wounds were ground against the rough stone, painting it red anew with his blood.

"You do not look enthused to see me again, Noldo," Sauron purred, holding Finrod against the wall by pressing a hand against his throat.

"I wonder why," Finrod could not resist replying, though it was difficult to force the words out when his windpipe was being crushed.

"I wonder, too," replied the lord of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, forcing Felagund around and pressing his face into the stone as he traced the newest wounds on the elf's back, making them burn anew. "Could it be you were displeased with your treatment last time?"

Finrod gritted his teeth against the pain and refused to answer. It made no difference one way or another.

Sauron yanked hard on the elf's hair, forcing his head back at an uncomfortable angle and leaned forward until his lips brushed the tip of his captive's ear. "I asked you a question, Noldo," he murmured, and under the softness of his voice was a steely threat.

"Do what you will," Felagund replied flatly. "I will tell you nothing."

"You will tell me everything," Sauron laughed, and there was something distinctly sinister in his utter confidence. "You will tell me your name. You will tell me your companions' names. You will tell me your business. And you will break."

Finrod found himself once more facing his enemy, who was now much too close for comfort. With one hand in the golden strands and another grasping his jaw, Sauron held his captive largely immobile in an unyielding grip as he kissed the Noldo fiercely, despite the other's struggles to get away. The Maia was stronger, mightier, and more powerful than the elven-king, who was no match for his enemy - as he had bitterly learned when his company was first captured.

Sauron sank his teeth into the Noldo's lower lip, drawing blood with his sharp canines. At this he pulled back and smiling watched the rivulets of red trickle down the elf's chin, and then from there along the curve of his neck. "Anything you would like to say, before we get started?" he invited.

Finrod subconsciously drew his tongue across his swollen lips, tasting his own blood. "I will tell you nothing, Gorthaur!" he snarled.

Sauron _tsk_ed, a malicious smile of anticipation curving his lips. "Come, come, Noldo! Grant me at least a name by which to call you. You have one - yea, more than one! - for me."

"They are but titles by which we curse you," Finrod replied. "None of the Eldar will call you by your right name, for we have all done our best to forget it."

This amused Sauron mightily, and he laughed darkly, sinking his nails into the exposed flesh of Felagund's chest. "That is so; but I will call you by no name but your own, and I will learn it ere the night ends!"

With that oath spoken, Sauron bent his head down and sank his teeth into Finrod's neck, yanking the elven-king's head to one side painfully. Finrod hissed with pain, and lifted his gaze upwards, though he saw nothing but the dark, low ceiling. His skin burned everywhere Sauron touched him. In unthinking desperation, Felagund lashed out with his leg, and his knee caught his captor in the core. Doing so Finrod temporarily dislodged his tormentor, but a cry was torn from his lips, for Sauron had bitten down at the blow, and therefore tore off a piece of flesh from his shoulder.

Sauron was no longer laughing. With a grimace of displeasure, he shoved Felagund once more against the wall. "Very well," he growled. "If you are so eager, let me give you what you want."

Finrod closed his eyes. He knew what was coming. If he could have, he would have let his _f__ëa_ flee his body to the Halls of Mandos long ago; but Sauron, with his dark power, had not allowed that to happen. As the Necromancer shoved his entire length into the elven-king's body, Finrod threw his head back and screamed from the bottoms of his lungs, a raw, piercing howl of pure agony and humiliation. It was the sound someone made when they were being broken.

Sauron chanted as he thrust in and out of his captive, mercilessly pounding away, and Finrod's gaze was darkened, and fell images danced before his eyes. Pain deeper and colder than mere tearing of the flesh set in, and something pulled and tugged at him, and he began to feel the irresistible urge to shout out his own name, and the longer he suppressed it the sharper his agony became.

At last it became unbearable and as Sauron buried himself deep inside of him, Finrod finally gave his name.

Thus Sauron learned his identity, and learned exactly who his valuable captive was. His cruel laughter haunted Finrod for many hours after he had left, echoing malignantly in his head, as he lay, broken, battered, bloodied, on the cold, unyielding, unforgiving stone, and wept silently. He had betrayed his companions. He had betrayed his people. And he had betrayed himself. Sauron had broken him.

Finrod Felagund had fallen into darkness forever.


End file.
